“Dad! Dad, I can’t find my book bag!”

I shove my last bite of eggs in my mouth and run into the living room, almost tripping over Hazel’s book bag on the way. With a sigh, I pick it up and carry it into her bedroom at the end of the hall. She is under her bed, her little butt in the air as she digs around, trying to find her stuff.

“Hazel, you left it in the kitchen again,” I say through a laugh. She scoots back out and scowls at me for a second, looking even more like her mother than she usually does. It makes my heart ache when she does that, but I force myself to remember that Hazel is how I keep Mandy with me. She is my keepsake. My forever memory of the wife and mother Mandy was, and could have been, if we hadn’t lost her.

I came home from Libya to find my daughter in temporary foster care. Neither Mandy nor I had any family, just each other. So when that piece of shit mugger had accidentally shot Mandy and left her bleeding to death in an alley, he’d also left my daughter completely alone. By the time I got back, Mandy was gone, and Hazel had moved from her daycare teacher’s house, to temporary emergency housing, to a foster home, all without really understanding what had happened to her mom, or why her dad wasn’t there.

The minute I held my daughter in my arms, I knew I would never leave her again. I couldn’t. From that point on, my life had to be about her and nothing else. But that also meant giving up the military. And the truth was, I couldn’t imagine going back. I couldn’t imagine doing anything I’d done before. It was time for an entirely new life for both Hazel and myself.

But I also had no idea what that would entail.

When I first got home, as Hazel and I settled into life alone, I didn’t even think about work for a while as I blew threw our savings. Then,I didn’t have that option anymore. Money was running out, and I needed to support us. One night, my buddy Jake from my unit was over for dinner when he brought up the fact that he had been engaging in some… underground sports.

“You’d be good at it, man. And it’s easy money,” Jake said as he stuffed his mouth full of spaghetti.

I shook my head as I watched Hazel play in the living room. “Bare-knuckle boxing is not my thing, first of all. Second, I can’t risk hurting myself. What would happen to Hazel if something happened to me?”

“It’s not that dangerous. It isn’t… that thing nobody talks about, you know? If someone goes down, the fight is over. Same rules as above-the-board fights. We just don’t have a ton of sponsors and shit. Just come to one fight, dude. Hazel can stay with Bree and the kids.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Bree knows you are doing this? And she is okay with it?”

“Okay probably isn’t the right word. But it brings in more money than my job at the docks. And right now, with my benefits all tied up in paperwork? It’s the best option. The next fight is Friday. Just come watch.”

And I relented. I went and watched one fight. Then another. And before I knew it, I was training with a guy named Lou and taking on three fights a week. Underground off-the-books betting bouts led to legit amateur fights, which led to winning the Golden Gloves. It isn’t exactly what I imagined for myself or Hazel, but it kept a roof over our heads and food in the fridge, which is all I care about now. As long as Hazel is safe and healthy, then I am happy.

“Dad! We have to go!” Hazel yells at me from the front door, dancing back and forth on her pink sneakers. I saunter up and scruff her hair, sending her into a tizzy. “Daaaaaaad, I just brushed it!”

I laugh and scoot her out the door. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get you to school, punk.”

* * *

“Kid, your jab is too low and you aren’t protecting your chin. This is why you keep taking them to the jaw in every match. One overhand right and you’re done.”

Lou has me pinned up against the ropes, trying to get me prepared for my next fight. I’m scheduled to go up against one of the best fellow amateur fighters in Chicago tomorrow night, and I don’t feel remotely prepared. In fact, I am reasonably confident he is going to kick my ass, so Jake and Bree are keeping Hazel for the night, giving me extra time to train. But no matter what we do, I can’t seem to defend myself from the overhand right attacks that Lou is leveling on me.

“Come on, Lou. You know I can handle a few face shots. Those won’t matter in the long run,” I say as I gently shove the elderly man off of me. He shakes his head at me and curses.

“Until they do! This dude is just barely short of hitting the heavyweight classifications. I think he and his garbage coach are gaming the system, to be honest. But these are the hands you were dealt, and if he deals you one of his meaty paws to the jaw, you could end up in the hospital. So, focus! Hands up!”

I have to stifle an eye-roll, because if Lou catches me giving him attitude, he will punch me in the junk. We spar for a while longer, and just about the time I’m in need of a break, I am stopped dead in my tracks when a beautiful woman walks into the gym. She’s tall, and curvy, with skin the color of dark chocolate, and gorgeous sparkling eyes that I can see even from the ring. She’s wearing a ‘70s punk band T-shirt under a fluffy sweater and jeans, but she looks vaguely uncomfortable, as if she’s never been in a gym in her life. I actually think I see her cover her face at the smell of dudes working out, which I’ve pretty much become immune to. I stop to laugh, and Lou nails me square in the cheek, sending me flush to the ring floor.

“Damn it, man! Couldn’t you see I wasn’t paying attention?” I say from my back as I massage my cheek.

Lou leans over me. “Let that be a lesson to you! ALWAYS PAY ATTENTION!”

I sit up, and the woman is at the edge of the ring, watching us with an amused smile. Lou follows my eye line and scowls at her. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

“My name is Kylie Peacock. I’m here from NDB Sports and Entertainment. My boss, Lisa Malone, was supposed to let you know I was coming by tonight?” Her voice is sure, and confident, but I think I can see a touch of nervousness in her eyes.

Lou scowls at her for a moment longer for good measure, then nods begrudgingly. “Right. The agent. I wasn’t expecting a wo—”

“We weren’t expecting you so early,” I say as I jump to my feet, cutting off Lou, who was about to be a sexist ass. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting an agent at all. We hadn’t talked about this, had we Lou?” I growl at Lou.

“Yeah, well, I can’t keep setting up fights for you and fielding calls from douchebags who want you advertising man perfume. That’s not my job. My job is to convince you to keep your jab up!” He tries to throw a punch at me, and I block this one easily. He smiles smugly.

Kylie looks at the ring nervously, then awkwardly crawls between the bottom rope and the floor, rolling through and onto her stomach. She scrambles to her feet quickly and smooths out her shirt over her curves, which I try not to stare at.

“Right. That’s exactly why I’m here. Lisa said you are primed to make the jump to the big leagues, and I can help you do that.”

“‘The big leagues’ is a baseball metaphor. This is boxing,” I grumble.

“It’s a general metaphor for bigger and better things. Do you not want more high-profile fights? More money?” she says as she hangs her giant bag on the edge of the ring.

“Money isn’t everything.” I don’t know why I’m being petulant, but the urge to be a stubborn ass is slowly rising within me and I’m having trouble fighting it.

“Uh-huh. Be that as it may, I’m here and I have a job to do. Any chance you can take a quick break so we can talk?”

I look at Lou and shake my head. “Oh, I don’t think Lou will let me…”

“Get the hell out of here. Go to the diner next door. Ice your jaw while you’re at it, you bum,” he says with a satisfied laugh. I glare at him.

“I guess I’m taking a break then.”

* * *

Kylie and I sit across from each other at Journeyman’s, the diner next to the gym where all of the guys hang out. She keeps wiping down the table in front of her, as if she finds new spots of food or liquid every few seconds, which she probably does. Journeyman’s isn’t exactly a paragon of high-quality food… or health department approval. She orders a diet soda and bowl of soup, and I order the steak special with extra gravy, two orders of potatoes, and a side of fried shrimp. When Kylie hears my order, she gags a little.

“What? You don’t eat food?” Dear God, what did that even mean? I’m talking like Rocky Balboa. I went to MIT!

“I eat food. A lot of food. I love it, in fact. But I can’t eat… this food. Grease makes me sick,” she says covering her mouth like she might wretch. I can’t help but chuckle. She has a solid point.

“I mean, yeah. It’s not great, but it’s cheap, it’s close, and it gives me the protein I need after getting nailed in the jaw. Though I have noticed lately that the neighborhood pigeons are getting sparse, so I wouldn’t order the chicken.”

She looks at me with utter horror for a second, but then realizes I’m joking. She breaks into laughter in spite of herself. “Not only will I not order it tonight, I may never order it again!” Then her face turns serious. “Okay, Adam Burnham. Tell me about yourself. Not the stuff I can read in your stats. Tell me the things I can use to sell you to magazines and TV shows. The details that make you, you.”

I can’t help but wince. I have never wanted the crowds to know anything about me, let alone the press. Lou doesn’t even know about Hazel, let alone where I was or what I actually did when I was still in the service. People always seem to treat me differently once they know life, and I don’t want that. Especially when a guy is punching the shit out of me in the ring.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, trying to hide and help her simultaneously.

She sighs and pulls out a notebook. “You really aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

I shrug and look down at the table. “Where is that damn food? They don’t usually take this long.”

Kylie furrows her brow at me. “You’re deflecting. Fine. Here come the questions then. Where were you born?”

I see the waitress on her way to the table and breathe a sigh of relief, though she has given me a softball question. Then, I start thinking about my childhood in upstate New York, and how that led me to meeting Mandy in the ninth grade, and I suddenly feel like I’m being pressed down into the booth by an invisible weight on my shoulders.

“New York,” I mumble as the waitress drops our food on the table. Kylie looks down at her soup, some carrots and peas floating in greasy tomato broth, and after a moment, pushes it away. I start tearing into the steak like I haven’t eaten in a week. She tries not to watch me.

“Where in New York? Manhattan? The Bronx? Brooklyn?”

I snort. “There is more to New York than the island. Upstate. Outside Buffalo.”

She jots some notes and opens the package of crackers on the table, then begins slowly munching on them. “Brothers? Sisters? Are your parents alive? Are you… married?”

My heart does that thing it does whenever someone mentions anything related to Mandy. It feels like an electrical current shooting through my chest.

“No,” I say as I shove a shrimp in my mouth.

Kylie sighs again as she sits backward. “No to sisters? No to married? No to what?”

“All of the above.”

“All right, Adam. Is this how it is going to be? Because I can find you fights, amateur-level stuff. And you won’t progress out of this gym; you will keep fighting in shitty little local arenas with no hope of ever advancing out of here. But in order for me to sell you to the big time, to convince brands you make a good spokesperson and arenas in Vegas that you are worth headlining, you need to have a story. A good one. We can get your professional license, no problem. That won’t make people give a damn about you. And you will just be the footnote in some other boxer’s story of making it big. So you keep sitting there being surly and difficult. Call me when you actually give a shit about your career.”

And without another word, she throws ten dollars on the table, gets up, and walks out of the diner, leaving me alone with my steak and my shame.